


Déjà Vu

by Shenandoah_Risu



Category: Stargate Universe
Genre: F/M, other SGU characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-19
Updated: 2011-08-19
Packaged: 2017-10-22 19:37:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shenandoah_Risu/pseuds/Shenandoah_Risu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Have we met before?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Déjà Vu

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Déjà Vu  
> Author: Shenandoah Risu  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Content Flags: Explicit adult content - adult readers only, please; major character death  
> Spoilers: none  
> Characters: Tamara Johansen, Vanessa James, Matthew Scott, Ronald Greer, Everett Young, other SGU characters  
> Word Count: around 3,975  
> Summary: “Have we met before?”  
> Author's Notes: Written for the "Alternate Realities" challenge at the LJ Comm Stargateland. In this story TJ is a seasoned Navy fighter pilot and Young is a very young medic. The first Gerald Ford class aircraft carrier won't be ready until at least 2015, so this story is set in the not-too-distant future. Thus I've allowed myself some small leeway with Navy protocols, but it was done with all due respect and after countless hours of research. Thanks to mgsmurf for valuable insights into Navy culture. This story is dedicated to all the women pilots and all the male nurses out there who are just doing their jobs.  
> Disclaimer: I don't own SGU. I wouldn't know what to do with it. Now, Young... Young I'd know what to do with. ;-)  
> Thanks for reading! Feedback = Love. ;-)

  
**Déjà Vu**   


“My goodness – don’t they even let them graduate from high school any more these days?”

Lt. Vanessa James nods her head in the direction of a small group of newcomers in the lunch line. Her roommate and fellow pilot Tamara Johansen smiles. “They do look awfully young, don’t they?”

“Maybe it’s us,” Vanessa muses, mopping up the last of her salad dressing with a piece of bread. “We’re getting old.”

“Mmmhmm.”

They both watch the new kids push their trays along the serving line when a small commotion breaks out further down, as loud laughter erupts among the newbies.

“Must’ve been pretty funny.” Vanessa gathers her dishes on her tray. “See ya later.”

“You on sortie?”

“Yep. Don’t wait up.”

Tamara watches her friend carry her tray to the conveyor belt and striking up a conversation with one of the kids. She laughs at something the young man said and then turns towards the exit. The man catches Tamara’s eye and for a split second their gazes meet – dark eyes, a brilliant smile, and she feels as if she has been stabbed in the chest with a dagger.

She drops her fork in confusion, and when she looks up again the man is gone. She looks around, searches for his face, her heart hammering wildly in her chest.

What happened?

For a moment, she felt as if she was weightless, falling, somewhere else altogether.

She shakes herself out of it, staring at her dishes, putting the fork back on her plate.

“You okay?”

She turns and looks at her fellow pilot Matthew Scott, as he takes the seat next to her.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she mumbles. “I think I recognize one of the newbies.”

“Oh yeah?” Matt digs in. “Which one?”

“He’s gone now.”

“Yeah, well, he’ll be around,” Matt answers with his mouth full, and she claps him on the shoulder as she gets up. “Later, Spaghetti.” Matt is tall and skinny, and his call sign fits him to a T. “Ciao, Doc,” he responds in kind, and she carries her tray to the belt, keeping an eye out for the strange young man, but it’s as if the ship has swallowed him up.

She’s probably just tired, she thinks. She’s had a rough sortie that morning, with a plane that had all sorts of minor niggling issues that kept her on edge the entire time. And while she got her call sign for being especially knowledgeable about all manner of planes one might find on an aircraft carrier like the Gerald Ford-class “ _Destiny_ ”, the morning’s problems haven’t added up to anything concrete, and her instrumentation has told her everything was fine.

She stops by the officers' work area to check her email. Four more messages from her ex-husband Varro, who has some minor crisis again. She sympathizes with his girlfriend issues, but she has no intention of getting involved or turning into _Dear Abby_ or something, even if they’re still on friendly terms.

As she gets up to go to her quarters she sees the young man rounding a corner at the far end of the corridor, and she has half a mind to chase after him, but the white top with the red cross he’s wearing now clearly places him on the flight deck crew, and he’s obviously on his way to his shift.

There’s a folder in the caddie by her hatch with a list of names of new shipmates. She scans the medics roster once, twice, goes over it a third time, but none of the names stand out or look familiar to her.

She grabs a change of clothes, heads for the showers and gets ready for a nap.

She dreams of flying her F/A-18E in outer space somewhere, surrounded by colored streaks of light that whoosh past her head until she realizes her cockpit has disappeared and she’s gliding along by herself, her arms stretched out as if they were wings.

She gets up when Vanessa returns from her sortie.

They chat about their day; since they belong to different squadrons there is always lots of gossip.

“So who was the guy you talked to after lunch,” she finally asks her. Vanessa scrunches up her face. “Ack – I don’t remember. One of the new guys. He’s a medic. Pretty funny guy, too.”

“I think I know him.”

“How?”

“I can’t figure that part out. I checked the roster. Nothing looked familiar.” She points at the folder.

“Nah,” Vanessa yawns, “We’ll work on that tomorrow.”

But neither one of them sees him again during the next few days.

  
**oOo**   


She’s in her plane, about to taxi to the catapult for takeoff when she spots him in conversation with another Whiteshirt. He looks up and waves at her, flashing a big toothy grin in her direction. She raises her hand in greeting, then concentrates on the instructions of the Air Boss. As she waits her turn she suddenly notices a man lying on the tarmac – she didn’t see him collapse, but there he is, a Blueshirt, right in her path.

Déjà-Vu man turns and runs to the Blueshirt – goodness, in her whole life she has never seen anyone _run_ like that – and he hauls up the technician by the back of his vest without even stopping and drags him out of the way, somehow still managing to cradle his head and neck; seconds later the other medics reach him and the man is swiftly carried off. In that moment she gets the all-clear, and it takes all her training and concentration to focus on her aircraft and taxi to the catapult.

She feels her heart beating wildly, but then the routine takes over and the world drops away as she completes her pre-flight checks, salutes the Catapult Officer in a final OK, and then there’s the bone-crushing, exhilarating and terrifying acceleration of the launch.

She takes deep breaths once she is airborne, and as usual nothing else matters anymore – it’s just her and her jet, and her squadron out there.

  
**oOo**   


“What happened to the man who collapsed?”

As soon as she climbs down from her plane at the end of the day’s maneuvers she checks in with Master Chief Ronald Greer.

“Ah, Hunter Riley – he passed out, they got him in the hospital now, trying to figure out what happened. Coupla bruises and scrapes, nothing major. One of the new medics pulled him out right away. Good guy we got there.”

“I saw,” she confirms. They nod at each other, and then she high-fives Matthew “Spaghetti” Scott as she passes him on his way to his plane.

She takes a shower, gets dressed and heads to the mess for some chow. It’s a surprisingly slow time and she has a table to herself.

“Beg your pardon, Lieutenant Commander, mind if I join you?”

She looks up – and again, it’s like a jolt of high voltage: there he is, warm brown eyes, friendly smile, a strong jaw line. Shorter than her, she thinks. She gestures at the empty seats. “Be my guest.”

“Thank you, Ma’m,” he nods and sits down. “Ensign Everett Young, NROTC. I’m a paramedic.”

“Tamara Johansen.”

He smiles. “I know. I saw you fly out earlier. I wanted to chat with you anyway – I like to know the people I work for.”

“So, what happened with the Blueshirt?”

Young shakes his head and begins eating. “Dr. Brightman thinks it was an interaction of two medications. He just passed out, doesn’t remember a thing.”

“You saved his life.”

Young stops, looks at his plate. “I did my job, Ma’m, just like he did,” he finally says modestly.

They eat in companionable silence for a while but she can’t help sneaking furtive looks at him. Young puts his utensils down.

“I’m sorry Ma’m… I’m still learning the ropes and all that – was it okay to ask you if I could sit here? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or break protocol or anything.”

She waves him off. “No, no problem… it’s just… you look so familiar.”

He chuckles. “I get that a lot. Apparently I look like a lot of people. The classic all-American mutt.”

“No, I’m serious. Have we met before?”

Young purses his lips, scrunches up his face, then shrugs. “Maaaaybe in an alternate universe, or something.”

“Or something,” she echoes.

A moment later his radio squawks; he jumps up, thanks her profusely and hurries off, as he’s called to some emergency or other. She sighs, gathers his tray as well and carries it to the dish conveyor.

That night she dreams of stars – warm, golden pinpricks of light in a velvety sky. She is on the _Destiny_ , the vast aircraft carrier ploughing through outer space now, leaving glittering dust in her wake. Young is there with her, as they both stand naked in the middle of the flight deck, hand in hand. And suddenly she feels him inside of her, and she wakes, her heart pounding.

  
**oOo**   


“His name is Everett Young,” Tamara tells Vanessa.

“Ah,” she nods. “So you knew each other?”

“Nope… never met, apparently. I still… I _know_ I know him from somewhere.”

“Alternate reality?”

“Funny – that’s exactly what he said. Alternate universe or something.”

“There’s this theory that déjà vu is just a bleed-through from an alternate dimension or timeline and such.”

“Yeah, I remember reading that somewhere. Well, there’s no way to disprove it, so why not?”

“Why not, indeed… So what? You gonna shag him?”

Tamara laughs. “Come on. I know his name and that he’s a medic who can run like Speedy Gonzales.”

“Plenty enough.”

“He’s just a kid!”

“Well, that hasn’t stopped you before… You were robbing the cradle with your ex, too.”

“Aw, come on – Varro was only 6 years younger than me.”

“Really. I distinctly recall him not cleaning up his room or doing his homework – and futzing with 50 million trading cards from that freaky TV show.”

Tamara giggles and flings her pillow at her friend.

“Wormhole X-Treme!”

“I rest my case.”

  
**oOo**   


She catches glimpses of him over the next few days – he waves at her from across the room, winks at her in passing, gives her a fist pump as she taxis her plane.

Her dreams get more explicit, and they are comfortable, familiar, warm, but also breathtakingly exciting and beautiful. She pulls up his file, stares at his mug shot. When he’s not smiling there is something ancient in his eyes, something deep and eternal, as if the weight of the world somehow rested on his shoulders.

He’s far too young for her – he could be her son. And yet, she has to admit she’s maybe fallen in lust with him, and what makes it so irresistible is that he seems genuinely interested in her. She loves a good ego-stroking as much as anyone, but she wants more.

  
**oOo**   


Tamara and Everett both end their shift at the same time, parting ways a few decks below to go to their bunks and showers, and meeting up again by chance in the mess hall some time later. He tells her about some of the funnier things he’s seen as a paramedic, before he went to Nursing School and NROTC. “So, why do they call you Doc?” he asks her. “Any medical aspirations yourself?”

She laughs. “No. I’m good at aviation trivia, that’s all.”

"Ah - so Doc as in ‘smart’ – PhD, not MD?"

She gives him a thumbs-up.

He smiles at her and suddenly his face turns serious. “You’re a wonderful person,” he says. “I just wish…”

He falls silent, blushing endearingly, and she doesn’t push him.

They finish their meal, and as they gather their dishes she touches his hand.

“Come with me,” she says.

He doesn’t answer, but follows her to her quarters. She opens the hatch.

“Go on.”

“What about your bunkmate?”

“On sortie.”

And as she pushes the hatch closed she grabs his shirt and pulls him towards her, capturing his lips in a hard, demanding kiss. He responds shyly, eyes closed, not touching her. She’s indeed a few inches taller than him, she notes on the side, just like she thought.

She pulls back and looks at him. He smiles impishly, and it feels to her as if the sun is rising in her room. He wraps his hands around her waist and leans in for another kiss, slipping his tongue between her lips.

She runs her palms over his chest, and lower, rubbing over his crotch, and his breath hitches as he tilts his head back, exhaling with a soft sigh. It’s just about the most erotic thing Tamara has ever seen a man do. She traces his cock through his pants, cupping him, squeezing slightly, which earns her a shivering moan.

“That for me?” she whispers.

“If you want,” he rasps.

Her fingers make quick work of his shirt buttons, as she smoothes her hands over his naked chest, peeling the fabric off his shoulders while they kiss, more heated now. She unbuckles his belt, unbuttons his pants and slides them down over his hips.

She pushes him against the hatch as she kneels down, slipping one hand up the leg of his boxers to touch him, while she mouths his cock through the thin fabric. He moans softly, resting his hands on her shoulders, and she can feel his fingertips trembling.

Finally she pulls his boxers down, freeing his erection. She looks up at him and he nods, lips parted, eyes hooded. His gasp delights her, as she takes his cock in her mouth, drawing back slowly. She licks a long wet stripe along one side, loving the feel of his silky smoothness against her tongue. He’s beautiful, well proportioned with the rest of his body, as she learns the path of the throbbing vein underneath, the smooth head, already weeping with pre-cum.

She sucks him off leisurely for some time, careful not to arouse him too much – he is so young, and already his willpower surprises and impresses her.

Finally she unlaces his boots and helps him take them off, removing his pants, shorts and socks as well.

He stands there, trembling slightly, but otherwise calm, watching her, as she takes off her own boots, unzips her flight suit and peels out of it. His gaze never leaves her face, even as she takes off her bra and panties.

She steps towards him and takes his face in her hands, losing herself in his kiss, tasting him, welcoming his tongue in her mouth again. His hands ghost over her heated skin, stroking her flanks, gliding over her ass, moving up to her hair to undo the bun in her neck. Her long locks frame her face as she watches him dip his head down to take one of her breasts into his mouth, suckling hard, and her desire lances through her, going straight to her crotch. His hand glides lower as his lips tease her nipple, a finger playing with her clit, then slipping into her damp heat at her soft moan. He moves to mouth her other breast, then kisses his way up her chest and alongside her neck, as he inserts another finger into her, pushing hard, deep, spreading her open. She grinds her hips into his hand, loving the intrusion, the teasing, his heated breath against her jaw.

“I’m not a boob guy as such,“ he whispers in her ear as he rolls her nipple between his fingertips, “But you have a gorgeous set that could totally turn me into a believer.” He nips her earlobe. “You’re soaking wet already. Eager, are we?”

She laughs and steps back again, briefly mourning the loss of the feeling of his fingers deep inside her. She gestures at the bunk beds.

“Not really good for two,” she shrugs, and together they pull the mattress off her bottom bunk and put it on the floor. It barely fits. He snickers, then turns and picks up his pants, removing his wallet and fishing out a condom.

“I’m on the pill,” Tamara says, “but it’s probably a good idea anyway. Lie down.”

He hands her the condom as he sits down and turns around to fit on the mattress, and she notices him squeezing the base of his cock hard.

“You’re so hot,” he explains with a tremor in his voice. “I could come from just looking at you.”

She sits down, runs her hand along his leg. “Same here,” she muses, then taps his thigh. “Scoot.”

As he makes room for her she opens the packet, then places the condom on his chest, leaning over him to take his cock into her mouth again. He whimpers a little, fingers clawing into the sheet beneath him. She smiles.

“Who’s eager now? Could it be you?”

He blows out a shaky breath and nods. “Yes, Ma’m.”

She tilts her head. “You call me that one more time and I never knew you.”

He grins. “Okay – Doc? Tamara?”

“Either one is fine.” She takes the condom from him, squeezes the tip and rolls it over his straining erection. “It does not leave this room, you hear me?”

“I got it.”

She moves up to straddle his hips, lining up his cock and slowly sliding herself down onto him. It hurts quite a bit – she hasn’t had sex in a while, and his eyes never leave her face the whole time, while he draws tiny circles on her thighs with his fingertips.

“You okay?”

She bites her lip, nods, feels herself stretching, adjusting to his size.

“It’s just been a while.”

He takes her hand, holds it gently, waiting for her features to relax, then kisses her fingers. “Better?”

“Yeah…”

She leans forward, capturing his lips, and he wraps his arms around her.

They kiss, slowly, lazily, taking their time getting used to their joining. Then she pushes herself up and tilts her hips, rocking gently, and he closes his eyes again.

He feels good inside her, now. Full, hard, just this side of too big, but good.

She begins to move, bracing herself on his shoulders, then riding him harder. He’s getting close, she can tell by his groans and the way his fingers dig into her hips, as he thrusts upwards into her. Then she pulls back, keeping the condom in place as his cock slips out of her. She nudges him over to make room, then lies down beside him as he turns and climbs over her to kneel between her parted legs.

She cries out as he pushes into her again and he stops, kissing her below the ear. “Am I hurting you?”

“No,” she breathes, “don’t stop.”

He pulls her legs up to rest over his arms, opening her up wider, using his knees for leverage to penetrate her more deeply, slamming his hips into her faster and harder.

She looks at his face as he labors above her, droplets of sweat at his temples as he pounds into her. She reaches up to touch his cheek, and he grunts hard as he comes, curving his back to hold himself deep within her with every thrust, then suddenly leaning down to suck hard at her throat, and she tumbles over the edge of her orgasm with a cry, feeling her inner muscles clamp onto him, drawing him in, milking him hard, as her entire body shakes with strong contractions.

He watches her, giving short, shallow thrusts to draw out her ecstasy, kissing her again, deeply, demanding. He releases her legs, then holds her face in his hands, exchanging breaths with her.

She smiles up at him, crossing her ankles at his lower back, and they kiss again, gentler now, the urgency ebbing, rocking slowly.

He holds on to the condom as he withdraws a short time later, then pulls it off and sets it aside.

Rolling over onto his back he maneuvers her down to lie on top of him and she kisses his face – his eyelids, the corners of his smiling mouth, his jaw, his neck. Finally, she just looks at him, shaking her head a little.

“You’re so beautiful,” she says. He strokes her cheek with the back of his fingers.

“So are you.”

“I could be your mother.”

“My dad was not a nice man. You would have never liked him. Besides, I’m twenty-three, I’m old enough to do what I want.”

“With a forty-year old pilot?”

“Mmhmm. Exactly. A spectacular, hot, gorgeous, smart one.”

She sighs and rests her cheek on his chest, as his fingers weave through her hair, his other hand gently massaging her shoulder.

“We’ve done this before, you know?”

His hands still. “I have that feeling, too. This is too right, too familiar… Maybe this _is_ an alternate reality, or whatever.”

“We’ll never know.”

“No, we won’t...”

She kisses him, feeling his heartbeat slow down, his breathing even out.

“Where do we go from here?” he finally asks quietly. “It’s against regs, and everything.”

She looks at him, feels like she’s going to drown in his eyes, knowing she’ll want him again.

“We’ll have to make it work somehow.”

“I won’t let you go, I don’t care about the age or rank and all that.”

“Me neither.” She sits up, checks her watch. “Vanessa will be back soon. We gotta clean up.”

He sighs and reaches for her, one more slow, lazy kiss. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs.

She gets up to put on her clothes, and he ties off the condom and wraps it in a few tissues, tucking it into his pocket. She watches him get dressed, then helps him put her mattress back.

“Plans?” he asks.

“No plans.”

“Fair enough. Until next time.”

She smiles. “Yes. Until next time.”

Tamara leaves the room first, then signals to him when the corridor is empty. He touches her hand as he squeezes past her, then hurries down the hall and is gone.

  
**oOo**   


She’s in outer space again, on the _Destiny_ , and she sees him on the very bow of the ship. A large ring is standing in the middle of the flight deck as they approach each other, and he steps through to touch her face. And even in her dream she remembers thinking about the blatant symbolism of it all, and she remembers his laugh, as they walk back through the ring together, into the passing stars and fleeting specks of light.

  
**oOo**   


It’s a complete freak accident.

Tamara doesn’t even know what it is she’s looking at – she hears a metallic snap, sees a large flying piece of debris hit Young, sees him go down as if the floor had been pulled out from underneath him. Frantic shouts erupt, and she drops her helmet and runs, runs like she’s never run before. She pushes a Blueshirt aside, barely notices the bloody mess, screams his name at the top of her lungs.

His frightened eyes focus on her, and he smiles a little.

“Until next time,” he gasps with effort, blood pouring from his mouth, and as a medic pulls her off she sees his eyes close and she knows he’s gone.

She stands there, a short distance away, watches as if through a fog, as his body is carried below deck and the area is roped off.

“Doc?”

Master Chief Ronald Greer gently takes her by the arm and leads her towards the stairs. She remembers her helmet, moves to pick it up, then she leaves. She gives her witness statement, of what little she saw.

  
**oOo**   


She’s back in the air that afternoon.

  
**oOo**   


She cries in Vanessa’s arms.

  
**oOo**   


She dreams of the stars.

  
**oOo**   


She misses him.

  
**oOo**   


She smiles at his memory.

“Until next time,” she whispers. “You’d better be there, because I’ll be looking for you.”

  
  
Companion Artwork for this story can be found [here](http://i46.tinypic.com/izqb0h.jpg), or click on the thumbnail.   


  
[   
](http://shena8.livejournal.com/62793.html)

[](http://i46.tinypic.com/izqb0h.jpg) 

 

 

 

screencaps © MGM/ Hearst Entertainment

other images public domain commons license or personal collection

artwork by Shenandoah Risu


End file.
